It matters if she hates my guts like never before.
The slow smile that lights up her face damned near stops my heart.
Yeah. Or maybe it has more to do with the way her neckline plunges down more than anything else, and the terrible knowledge that she抯 been writing erotic poetry about me.
揑 think you抮e a cinnamon-roll-obsessed, mega-entitled freak. Not sorry,?she says bluntly.
揂 freak who burns you,?I whisper.
Bad move. I can抰 help it. My tongue has a mind of its own.
Her blush deepens and she glares at me, telling me exactly how much I抳e just fucked up this truce.
揙h, grow up. We should never mention that again if you really want me to stick around. I won抰 survive any other way.?
Slowly, I nod.
揅onsider it forgotten.?
揊or the record, it抯 not like it抯 just me who抯 noticed you, Burns. Surely, you know the effect you have on single women. But if you ever bring that up again, I抣l quit both jobs, agreement be damned. Then you抣l have to find a copywriter and an EA who can put up with your crazy ass until Lucy comes back from maternity leave.?
揑 already agreed to your terms,?I say harshly. 揂nd fair warning梱ou抣l never quit on me, because if you do, I抣l publish the poem all over social media.?
揧ou wouldn抰！?she gasps.
揂re you sure? I tried to crib a cinnamon roll off you once for five hundred dollars. I think we抳e established my actions defy conventional logic at times.?I wink at her. 揙f course, I抦 joking.?
Her color goes back to normal. She pushes her hands against the arms of the chair and leans forward. 揧ou抮e despicable.?
揗aybe so, but we抮e back to our usual relations, aren抰 we??Are we? I want her to say yes, to razz me like the art brat she is, to show me we抮e okay.
She stands quickly and starts toward the door.
揗iss Poe? Where are you going??
揟o work. Duh. It抯 better than being stuck in here with you,?she throws back over her shoulder.
She抯 out the door before I can get up and follow.
Fine.
That抯 the Nevermore I know. A violent little monster armed with sass and a delectable ass I抦 constantly fighting to push out of my head.
Shaking my head, I try to get back to my own work. Not easy.
Soon, I抦 throwing open my office door.
She抯 at Lucy抯 desk where she belongs, her face buried in some emails.
揘evermore??I ask once I抦 standing over her.
揘ot my name.?
揚oe? Dakota??
揧es??She blinks up at me like I should just start using her first name.
It scares me where that could lead.
揑 need a new batch of prerelease creative for social media approved by three p.m. Let抯 change it up this time. Maybe we抣l put the happy couple in a bedroom and show the wedding dress on the floor. What do you think??I ask, never taking my eyes off her. It抯 a test.
She glares at me. Her eye drops to a fruit basket on Lucy抯 desk.
Without a single word, the hellcat picks up an apple and hurls it at me.
I抦 smiling as I retreat, shutting the door to keep from being pummeled with an orange next. I hear muted laughter around the office as I make it to safety.
Then a resounding thud!
Something splats against my door.
Frowning, I open the door and find a stream of sticky plum juice running down my door to a couple destroyed fruit corpses on the floor.
揧ou抮e keeping the janitorial staff extra busy,?I say, shaking my head. 揥as that necessary??
揧es, and legal,?she grinds out. 揕ast I checked, there抯 no HR policy against food fights.?
She picks up her desk phone, still daggering me with green-eyed mischief.
揘ow what are you doing??
揅alling for cleanup like you asked.?
揃ut was it necessary??
She narrows her eyes. 揤ery. Also, I抦 not out of fruit.?
Little damned minx.
Damn if I抦 not thrilled to see her back in fighting shape, though.
With an exaggerated sigh, I shut my door and head for my desk. She抯 fast with good aim and I抦 not risking a banana barrage to the head.
Honestly, I don抰 care how childish it looks to anyone else.
The way I touched her hand lingers in my mind.
If only I抎 walked my fingers higher.
If only I抎 caressed her face, traced my thumb over her lips.
My cock throbs as I lean back in my seat, caught in a vision of those pert, strawberry lips sucking my thumb.
Even now, after the crap that went down, I抎 still like to stroke that delicate skin where her neckline keeps falling.
I抎 like to satisfy this weird fuck-fantasy we both share and run my hands over her tits, up her dress.
Fuck, what I wouldn抰 give to grab her panties梑lack lace or dotted with ravens, no doubt梐nd tear them off her so I can feel what she really thinks of me.
Shit.
How the hell am I supposed to keep my head on straight now that I know she wants me?
It has to be the first poem anyone抯 ever written about me, and that wasn抰 some soapy love and loss piece.
That was an 慖 want to fuck you because you excite me?cry from the heart.
Or maybe that抯 my own projection talking.
Still, there抯 no denying one thing.
Miss Poe excites me in a way no one else has in ages, even if I抦 interchangeable to her like she said in the poem.
They抮e all the same.
Either way, it抯 going to be damnably hard not to try stealing her away, alone, now that I know she wants me to feel her teeth in a different way than I ever imagined.
And isn抰 that the problem?
Even if I didn抰 have an unbearably large, complicated machine to manage, I know too well that messing with romance only fucks with your head.
Wyatt will never be the same man after the way his ex-wife abandoned him.
I抦 sure Dakota isn抰 a similar self-centered witch, but my parents were married for over thirty years. They adored each other. Their love for me sprang from their own.
When they weren抰 working, everything they did was for our family, and it was beautiful and perfect until the day my father died.
He left a bottomless abyss梒omplete with pendulum since I can抰 get Miss Poe off my mind梚n my mother抯 soul.
Then there was her.
Regina Swann.
Once as graceful and bright and kind as her name might suggest. I was in over my fucking head.
I believed in an us that never existed, totally unable to imagine she抎 kiss me in the sweetest way when I came home. Right after having another man抯 cock in her mouth two hours earlier.
She was a walking demolition.
The woman, the siren, the nightmare who taught me beyond any doubt that I抦 not cut out for love. The murderer of hearts who made me a rabid monster.
I抦 a razor-sharp businessman above all else. Besides assessing marketing that plays on the right emotions, I抦 not in the business of love.
My one true mistress is sweat. Equity. Work.
I don抰 dream of anything besides chiseling my mark on this world in everlasting stone.
I don抰 get mixed up in relationships anymore. Why bother when they抮e glaringly predictable?
Sooner or later, they all end the same way.
Heartbreak.
Bruises.
Devastation.
As I break out a mineral water and stare out at the city, I realize there抯 another reason why I call her Nevermore, Poe fluff aside.
She might invade my fantasies, but she won抰 invade my life.
For my sake and hers, Nevermore is all Dakota Poe can ever be.
I knew it wouldn抰 be easy.
For the most part, Dakota avoids me after our conversation about the poem. When she does talk, it抯 like her tongue is glazed over. So fucking icy I want to shiver.